To Say I'm Sorry, To Say Goodbye
by Zeratul Luke
Summary: To one mistake, I beseech you...listen and forgive me Gin
1. Chapter 1

_It's not sad, really.  
Just a tiny splinter,  
Like a stubborn leaf in the cold of winter.  
Just a tiny splinter in my heart_

Across the Alaskan fields, the camera pans to the left in a slow steady rhythm to stop on a herd of Graceland's Caribou, calmly grazing to the left of a bearded man in khakis, we present, "Nigel Thornberry here as ummm…Marriane?". Nigel's narrative trailed off as he saw Marriane fiddling with the camera wearing an annoyed expression. "This stupid film's frozen again, it's the weather, it's too cold for the camera to operate".

"But pumpkin, you know this is the only habitat left for the Graceland's caribou. The area's so small, the caribou are practically crowded into the plain behind us. Other than a small cliff shelter to the east there's been no recorded movement of the caribou anywhere else"

" Ohhh, I know…we'll just need to figure other way to film the caribou" she replied, setting the camera down next to her on the icy cliff, "Maybe there's some stock footage a local wildlife group will let us borrow"

Sitting down next to her, Nigel wrapped his arm around her fondly, "Oh, I doubt it hon, the extreme temperatures keep even the local tribes far away from this area. I doubt many others have had any more success than we hav-waaaaaah!" shouted Nigel in surprise as a tremendous outpouring of wind beat down on them from above, like a hurricane tossed on its side.

"The caribou!" cried Marriane, forearm up defensively huddled next her husband, she was just able to see through snowblinded eyes the Graceland's Caribou run frantic out of sight before even more powerful gusts tore though the camp, knocking her to the ground along with Nigel.

Bucking and waving in the thin snow air, a black Seahawk Rescue Helicopter descended steadily if not blatantly and ungraceful. Spitting ice and semi-frozen rain in a circle, a small snowstorm was all they could see of the helicopter's landing, a loud deep thud made sure there was no caribou in the immediate vicinity.

As the wind died down along with the propeller's whine, the snowstorm settled, allowing Marianne and Nigel to make their way off the ground, composing their winter gear as several figures move around the helicopter, haze still obscuring the view.

"What…are you doing!" shouted Nigel, walking ungainly through the recently deposited snow towards the approaching group as Marriane behind him tried to reassemble the camera in the heavy snow, "Do you have any idea how hard it is to film these creatures!?" yet the men continued moving as Nigel focused on one man dressed in red and black velvet stepping gingerly from the craft while a much older man of grayish hair, combed under a parka, aided him unnecessarily.

"You there, sir! Your men have disrupted over a week of careful, cautious and frankly very cold work on filming the elusive Graceland's Caribou, I must ask that you leave posthaste and much more quietly", finished Nigel, breathing from the cold, dry air sapping his breath.

Nodding lightly, the man turned to the elderly man next to him who promptly turned around himself taking a round flat tin from a red and white icebox, turning back and handing it to Nigel. "Eh…what's this chap?" asked Nigel perplexed, the man smiled wide slightly yellow teeth, "Some well-to-do footage of your deer!" he replied heartily, tapping the tin in time with his words, a fervored blast of air knock the lid along with the film roll inside to the wind just as he finished speaking.

A small silence following, the man continued, "I, uh..I have another of those, just in case". Staring at the man warily with half-closed eyes Nigel asked quite simply, "Who are you?"

"I am Maxamillian Ichor, Nigel Thornberry…and I have a very interesting proposition for you"

Chapter End.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two.

_And between you and me,_

_something amazing happened!_

In a smallish town, stuck in the middle of everywhere, a tired weary mother drove a not quite child yet still young girl home from high school; the mother? Foutley.

The girl? Ginger…her thoughts? Numerous. "Ugh, what did Carl do this time?" cried Mrs. Foutley in frustration; you could hear her temper was thin. Ginger didn't hear her mom's annoyance or rather did but her brain, placing this new entry number 437.23 on the list of priority her choppy mind was compiling and thus logged it to be thought later…not now.

What Ginger did think about then and there, and very hard was this;

_Does Darren love me?...I'm never sure this will work out, why did she think I was depressed from one poem? Why am I even thinking about that, that was ages ag-am I depressed?...I really need to start that report, its due next week…but on wha-who's outside our house? _

Ginger's mind had just up here mother's statement from three-fourths down to the list to pretty much on top when a collection of voices found their way, garbled, inside the car…talking consisting mainly of her and her family. Her stomach knotted and she felt sick like cancer.

A tear itched her nose and she saw salty droplets funnel down her cheeks through her peripheral vision. With a small inward gasp, she releaized why the tear fell which only served to bring several more down her face, she had remembered the exact memory that caused the sadness…the memories.

Started with a deadly fungus infection and ended with a confusing boy with questions unanswered, sheared down the middle, these two adjoing memories played like a conversation as audio shot back and forth between the two until the car door sound broke through wit ripples. Ginger looked up to see her mom staring down,

"Ginger, what's the matter honey? Are you okay?"

Meeting her mom's gaze, she peered past, focusing in on the camera crew running over to intercept their path,

"I'll…stay in the car, if that's okay mom".

Mrs. Foutely smiled thinly,

"Sure honey, I'll be right back" she replied understanding why, closing the door. As she headed toward the reporter quickly running through a story intro, her hip swagger suggested a possibility that she was as much in the mood to answers questions as Ginger…but less patience, less subtlety.

"Ginger! It's okay, come here...you should here this".


	3. Chapter 3

_Shut up…and try._

"His boats departed seven minutes ago from the coast of Florida, adjacent to the Maimi Heat Stadium. It was easy to confirm him on board from Sams Island, but all the guests were on the other side facing Star Island. I found the jet boat you promised waiting for me on the farther side of Fisher Island, so I'm right on time with them and if the floatin' pile of junk holds I'll be there in a week and a half. They should arrive on the island within two or three weeks depending on the weather and whatever damn course they take. Their not posting any logs in their nautical log or sending any invoices through the company lines and if I didn't already know the island's location, this would have been two weeks of trying to trail a cruise ship on clear open seas with no more help coming from your side of the field"

"Yeah….the group is getting more concerned about our connection being discovered. Ever since the Pinker Square Riot, you've become real hot stuff. The federal authorities keep doing background checks on any group that's even remotely represented at any rally your suspected of being near. Your like a disease and panacea in one, everyone wants to use you but not be connected to you…the group strongly advises ceasing the recent…scare tactics, give some down time. The group itinerary has them there for several weeks. The group as a whole feels it would be better to leave the operation till the final week to give a fal-

"If the plan goes foul I may have to take out Ichor, he's kept everything centered around him to insure secrecy and more media attention, it be like the power cord to the whole operation, so get your damn contingencies into place…don't wanna spread my disease.

"Wait, that has nothing to do with environmental protection, thi-

"Did you procure the rooster list yet? Made sure it held important people, not a whole bunch of celebrities? I want at least someone who knows what it is their doing to the ecosystem."

"Yeah…yeah, it's all set, I'm sending you the list now. It's titled 'Eco Roster" from-

"It's the same one you always use, don't need to tell me dammnit".

"Are you alright, honestly, if your not well for this you can still break away. We can't get you off the island until at least a week after the original timeline and we certainly don't nee-

"Do you want thid done or not? Okay? Tell me before I get on this makeshift rock, does the group want me to go through with the plan or not? Forget your fledging worries and fears bubbling to the surface and answr the question straight."

"Fine, huhhh…fine yes yes, okay, the plans are go. I've sent the file and nothing in the plans changed, just…chill, okay? The group merely requests you use more…compassion and less extreme measures…okay?"

"…okay?"

"Hoooly shit"

"What!?"

"Things just got alittle more…interesting"


	4. Chapter 4

_I'm gonna watch you shine, gonna watch you growww_.

"And I welcome you all on this joyous cruise, may it field compassion and understanding like never before between both humans" gestured a rather pale, tall Ichor, business suit fresh, "and animals".

"This island will the first step towards symbiotic harmony for all mankind and animalkind alike, a sanctuary for endangered species and wildlife that will hopefully one day spread to every continent that our world is made of…Thank you" ended a smiling Ichor to burst of bursts of discordant noise echoing across a gallant stream of confetti and affluent crowds blotched by one small multicolored streak of orange and green holding a somewhat bulky, somewhat weighty and somewhat advanced camera pointed unsteadily towards Ichor's retreating presence.

Adorned in a few keepsake bracelets and a friendship necklace Dodie had given her before leaving, this was Ginger. The camera was what the steward had called a DLSR, something expensive. Something Ginger might have never seen in her life on her own, possibly. The steward had originally confiscated the camera since its owner was unknown though a small scrap of cloth had been taped to it. It had her name on it and this worried Ginger's mother; the last thing Ginger needed was another stalker…after what had…happened.

Yet when he came back from relaying this to Ichor he was pale like Ichor at his speech, shivering like Ichor was when he met with the Thornberry's. He handed her back the camera, stuttering slightly as Ginger had done when questioned by the reporters. He told her that she was to keep it; it was a congratulatory gift for winning the secret raffle…keep it.

Two days passed for our intrepid young hero, the sea was a placid, sparkling thing of beauty that her unsteady hands caught digitally, learning new things of the world, her camera and their destination.

And of the other ship…

No one knew much, details had been sparse and vague but the voice that had blared quickly over the intercom (it reminded Ginger of the steward she had heard before) reported that their sister ship as of last night lost power to one of her engines and would not be joining us in our original ETA at the Island. It would be delayed about three to four days and all aboard would be given rain checks to visit anytime they wish for an extended week in consolation.

Carol and her mom had been in their cabin when hearing this, Ginger was sure Carol had made some morbid joke that only _he _found funny and her mother (she was sure) had creased her face quietly, forcing herself to let her worries go…they had promised.

It had been the day after discovering it true; they had won and for a week would be somewhere completely unknown. They sat around their kitchen table scanning the related paperwork; that was when her mom had made them promise: Leave Sheltered Shrubs in Sheltered Shrubs. Darren, Noelle, Dave…(He had his hands tied with a patient diagnosed with possible West Nile virus) for the purposes of this trip…forgotten.

_I suppose it's morbid to think of a sweepstakes-won vacation in such a way, but I just feel so…strange about this trip. Excitement, sure…but like were being lied to about something…stupid. Huhhh... I'm just frustrated I can't let go of my worries for a week on a boat miles away from Sheltered Shrubs, much less a few minutes at night watching the sunset… _

_"_This trip is suppose to be good for us, for me" spoke Ginger, the last words of her sentence said out loud to the weak seabreeze. Clicking the camera, she fumbled with its settings abit before finding the playback, "…Cameras never make sunsets look as good".

"What the hell happened!?!?"

Zeratul held onto the wheel tightly, he had enough to worry about with the private search boats, the last he wanted was the swells to take him out, "Attention-getter, let's see Ichor keep that out of the press"

"HALF THE PRESS WERE _ON_ THAT BOAT YOU PSYCHOTIC!!!"

"Yikes!" screeched Zeratul, pulling the headset off and dancing it gignerly at arms-length, "Exactly short-circuit, he doesn't own them so they'll friggin' report on it, yeesh, do some weed or something"

"THAT'S IF THEY LIVE!...I mean where the hell do you even get explosives!?"

"Meh…"Zeratul shrugged his shoulders, "Ebay…" He shook his arm, slinging the moisture that drenched his arm and the headset. "Relax, only the really fat ones have a risk of drowning or the easily panicked…they might be dead. You won't be involved so just ba-". Zeratul's hand slick with foam fumbled the headset cutting himself off as he watched it sink into the distance,

"Whoops…oh well, glad it wasn't mine"..

His boat burned into the night sea, the darkness mix-matching his thoughts as he headed towards the jet-black island set far in the fading sunset. He thought it make a good picture…some postcard for a guest maybe. I bet Ging would have liked it…I m-thunder shook the boat and his teeth.

Whatever he was going to say it remained unfinished and forgotten.


	5. Chapter 5

_while I sure enjoyed the view_

_Of seeing everything brand new_

_It's still you_

"Heading two two four five…radar shows a landmass to the ummm…starboard" Manning the wheel with his eye paired between murky water and illuminated instruments Nigel Thornberry looked towards his wife and grinned sheepishly,

"…That's your right honey…about a quarter turn on your wheel"

"Quite right dear…Tallyho!" cried Nigel as he pushed the pedal down, neatly missing a blue blur by bare meters. Covering her eyes with her map-ink smudged hand, Marianne peered over her shoulder at the familiar scene that greeted her. Debbie listening to her walkman…reading a magazine old enough that even she knew most of what it said, Eliza and Darwin playing checkers…Darwin losing every move just to have Donnie jump from the ceiling down on top the small inset table to sprawl the pieces across the floor.

_The same picture with a different background every time I see it_, reminisced Joanne, _it can't be normal that this is normal for us. But it's what's kept this family together I suppose. The van, trips all the time, life and death situations all the time…whatever this scene is is what we are and this trip could finally be a break from that. It should be so much simpler than this, just like a normal family for once. _

"Shoreline's up ahead dear, deploying wheels!" shouted Nigel, her lovable husband, keeping one hand on the wheel, pointed his right hand forward, vibrations shaking each and every one of them, they (each in their own way) packed up what they were doing and peered slightly ahead. Ready for what lay ahead just like so many other types have they prepared and haven't prepared mused Marianne, this trip will be good for this family and hopefully after this we can take a paved road to the hotel.

Rising from the water with strains and protest coming from the engine and wheels, the humvee creaked to a stop on a muddy shore recently made from cloudy skies getting darker. As Marianne popped the hatch, glad to smell some fresh air since two hours and noticed a beat-up, highly dented jet ski on its side, sprawled on the wet beach a couple of feet from them. Just barely could she see a footprint or two heading forward into a dense jungle.

"Stupid jungle…stupid bugs" cursed Zeratul bitterly as he slashed carelessly and frustrated with a chipped, worn machete, half the time at the foliage in front of him and half at the mosquitoes trying to such him dry,

"Stupid everything". Trapping his foot under a lifted root his body pitched forward, smacking his head roughly on a dripping wet branch and slashing his right arm on some nasty-looking, multicolored thorns. Going into a roll, his curses echoed off the face of the cliff his was precariously thrown down. He managed to clench a bundle of ferns with his good arm and despite it sending his other side into the cliff hard, his right arm felt only a buzz and a stiffening numbness. Dangling like an uprooted turnip Zeratul stared straight ahead, his eyes narrowed as he felt his right arm go completely numb he heard a twig snap in the far-off distance and lost his focus,

"REMIND ME AGAIN WHY I WANT TO SAVE YOU!!!!!"…his throat was dry and the words had caused him to cough up some blood that dribbled down his chin into the yawning air before and below him.

Kicking his feet into the rock, he managed a foothold and unceremoniously began to yank himself back up the façade's mossy edge with jerks and stops.

"Stupid…fucking jungle" he muttered. He collapsed ontop, his legs dangling over a rock face as the wind swept through his sandals clearing pebbles from between his numbed toes, his torn pants flapped limply against lifeless cold legs.

"Th-th-this is stupid…" he shuttered pulling himself along the dirt with vines and roots when he heard a snap and thud.

Craning his head he saw a coconut planted smoothly next to his head. Then he heard another snap and another smacked him square in the head with a loud clack and thud. All was quiet.


End file.
